


Scars

by MoonClown



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonClown/pseuds/MoonClown
Summary: The Joker is hit by a wave of self hate. You do your best to remind him that you're there for him.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This popped in my head after seeing pictures of J without makeup and in uniform. I know that the grimace on his face in that scene is due to his plan not quite working out, but I also see it as his reaction to looking at his reflection.
> 
> I personally like J’s scars and think he’s absolutely stunning with them. But I don’t think he likes them. I think he actually despises them and carries a lot of self hate in regards to his looks. I want to show him that he’s beautiful regardless of his looks. I want him to know how perfect he is. I want him to know just how much I love him.
> 
> I hope that came across here. I wrote this in one go late at night, so apologies for any typos/errors. Also, although I didn’t specify, J is barefaced here.

A loud growl wrenched you from the clutches of sleep. For a moment you wondered if you had imagined the sound until a crash confirmed you were not hearing things.

You sprung out of bed, tossing the covers aside as you rushed to the the source of the noises - the bathroom.

The lights were on in your small bathroom and the figure of a tall, lean man stood just inside the room. His back, littered with scars of varying lengths, depths, and fading, was turned to you. He was bent over the sink, fists clenched and a slight shudder shaking his frame as muffled words fell from his scarred lips.

You had seen him like this before, albeit not to this degree. You knew that, despite his confident demeanor, he secretly loathed his looks. His scars in particular were a sore spot. Usually when the self hate wrapped itself around his mind he was able to shake it off within a few minutes, not letting you get the chance to remind him of how handsome you found him to be. This time, however, you saw just how much hatred was flowing through his veins, if the crack in the sink counter near his hands was anything to go by.

“J?” You called quietly, not wanting to startle him. Apparently that didn’t work, as he jumped ever so slightly and shot his head up to glare at you from the mirror. The animosity must have been strong. J was always on his toes, always alert. For him to not have heard your rustling as you padded into the room…

He was in deep.

“J… J, Are you…?”

Another growl burst from his throat and he whipped around to face you. His right arm was raised, looking ready to strike. But you knew he would never hurt you. Not without your consent, anyway.

Even though you flinched at his sudden movement, your eyes remained on his face and refused to flicker with fear. You felt no fear towards him, and you needed to show him that.

You took a firm step forward, eyes trained on his, and reached a hand up to his face. He craned his neck back, attempting to move away from your impending touch, but his eyes betrayed him. He looked… Curious. He made no further attempt to evade you as your hand made contact with his skin. Despite the grimace that formed on his lips he allowed you to do as you wished.

“Hello, beautiful.” You murmured, fingers gracefully smoothing themselves over the mutilated flesh with loving strokes. “I haven’t seen you like this in awhile.”

A grunt was J’s only response.

“What sparked this? Was it another nightmare?” You knew J was plagued by frequent nightmares, making what little sleep he did get rough and exhaustive. Usually these nightmares featured flashes of his past and the cause of his trademark scars.

“Don’t you know it.” He replied, but his response lacked it’s usual bite. Instead he simply sound tired. Tired both in both and mind.

“I’m sorry.” J frequently reprimanded you for apologizing over things you couldn’t control. It was your own bad habit, your own demon to overcome. Constantly feeling like you screwed up or were never good enough. He always reminded you that saying sorry for every little thing took away the meaning from genuine apologies. But there was a mutual understanding that sometimes a simple “sorry” was all that could be said.

“I know I can’t rid you of your memories or the reminders, but I can at least give you happiness to balance out the pain.” You reached a hand down to his and tangled your fingers with his own. “Come to bed, beautiful. Please? My handsome anarchist needs to be shown how much he’s loved.”

Although that alone wouldn’t rinse him of the hurt accumulated over his life, the small smile on his lips that brightened up his dark eyes was certainly a start.


End file.
